Stealing Cinderella(16)
“You are certain this Charlotte was elsewhere that evening?”
“Yes, sir.” He points at the additional photographs printed out from the society section. Indeed, this is Charlotte Duncan, which makes my shoeless runaway a liar. Cinderella, as she referred to herself, used Charlotte’s ticket to gain entry to the bachelors.
“Should we alert Aston to this?” Hayes asks cautiously.
“No.” I shut the folder. “There is no need for concern. She probably just gave her ticket to someone else. Not exactly cause for the royal lynch mob to come and haul her away.”
Hayes frowns but gives me a stiff nod. “As for your other request, I have gone through the list of potentials and narrowed down the pool to five. But I believe this one is likely to be the woman you’re searching for, based on the fact she lives in Kent, and she’s blonde.”
I look at the name, Lavinia Maddison, and then the face. While she is a beautiful woman, this is not my mystery woman either. But if she lives in Kent, there’s a possibility she knows the woman I’m searching for.
“Thank you, Hayes. I will take it from here.”
“Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?” he asks.
“No, that will be all.”
He hesitates, and I know I’m not going to like whatever he has to say next. “Your father requested that you schedule a return flight home tomorrow.”
Absently, I nod. “Of course. Thank you, Hayes. You are dismissed.”
7
Ella
“What in the bloody hell took you so long?” Narcissa snarls at me as I set her cup down in front of her. “Did you have to go to China to source the tea yourself?”
“I’m sorry.” I avoid her gaze. “I had some trouble with the kettle.”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” she snaps. “There’s nothing wrong with the kettle. Do you know what I think, Ella? I think you’re a liar.”
I bite my tongue, forcing myself not to reply in a way that might provoke her anger. I’m already exhausted from her constantly barking orders and giving me more chores than ever. To her bitter disappointment, neither Lavinia or Magnolia seemed to snag themselves a prince at the ball, and Narcissa has been in a foul mood ever since.
“Did you hear me?” Her arm whips out, icy fingers wrapping around my wrist. “Or are you so daft you can’t think of another excuse?”
“I’ll take the kettle to the shop tomorrow and have Mr. Burnaby look at it.”
“You will do no such thing.” Her nails dig into my skin. “Do you want the whole town to think we are so poor we can’t afford a new kettle?”
“No, of course not.”
“You are nothing but an embarrassment to this family. It’s no wonder your sisters can’t find a decent man. Who would want to associate themselves with the likes of you?”
She shoves my hand away, and in the process, I bump the teacup, watching in horror as the hot liquid splashes into her lap. Narcissa screams, knocking over the saucer and half of the silverware on the table as she stands up and pulls her dress away from her body. Everything else happens so fast I barely have time to react.
Her eyes latch onto mine, and I take a step back, but she snatches my wrist again and drags me forward. Her other hand rears back, and she smacks me across the face so hard, I stumble into the table, dazed, only for her to thrust me back until I fall on my arse.
“You wretched, jealous little bitch!” she screams, reaching for the teapot.
My hands fly up to shield my face as I curl into a ball, but it does me little good when she pours the scalding hot water over me, eliciting a scream from my throat when it seeps into my skin. White-hot pain electrifies my nerves, and I can’t muster the energy to beg her to stop as I try to crawl away from her. I only make it three feet, my fingers digging into the wooden floorboards, when she smashes the teapot beside my head, splintering shards of glass all around me.
“Clean that up, you miserable cow. And then go upstairs. I don’t want to see your face for the rest of the day.”
After spending the afternoon nursing my splotchy red skin, I tidy up the attic so Narcissa can’t find another reason to come unglued. When the sound of trashy reality TV filters up from the floor below, I’m relieved they seem to be settling in for the evening.
With the coast clear, I reach for my phone and call Charlotte. She answers on the third ring, hair mussed and rosy cheeks glowing with satisfaction.
“Do I even want to know?” I ask.
“You mean, do you want to know that Oliver just gave me four bloody orgasms.” She grins. “I can dish if you can take it.”
Her playful mood disappears when she takes a closer look at my face. “Ella, what’s wrong? Have you been crying?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” I force a smile, secretly wishing I had someone who could make me feel the way Oliver makes Charlotte feel. But that can only ever be a fantasy for me. Why should I get to have a happy life when my father didn’t? He died because of me, and every time I think about trying to better my situation, that voice in my head whispers I don’t deserve it.
“It’s not nothing.” Charlotte’s pretty face scrunches up in anger. “Did that bitch do something to you again?”